in front and keeping a watchful lookout from a corner of his eye.
“Are you going to leave the poor little puppy, Joan?” said the mother, keeping her voice steady, for all the force of the two men could not help her now. It rested with her wit.
“I'll take him with me,” answered Joan, and caught up the howling puppy from the floor. His wails died out against her breast.
“But you mustn't do that, honey. He'd die in this cold night wind long before you got there.”
“Oh!” sighed Joan, and considered her mother with great eyes. Black Bart turned and uneasily tugged at her dress.
“Will you take good care of him, munner? Till I come back?”
“But I don't know how to take care of him, dear. If you go he'll cry and cry and cry until he dies.”
Joan sighed.
“See how quiet he is when you hold him, Joan!”
“Oh,” muttered Joan again. The distress of the problem made her wrinkle her forehead. She turned to Kate for help.
“Munner, what'll I do?”
“You'd best stay here until the puppy is strong enough to go with you.”
She kept her voice well under control; it would not do to show the slightest emotion, and now she sat down and half turned away from the child. With her
